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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Seventy-Three

The war council room in Harrenhall exuded an atmosphere of gravity and urgency, illuminated by streaks of daylight filtering through the narrow windows carved into the ancient stone walls. At the center of the dimly lit chamber stood a large wooden table, its surface cluttered with meticulously drawn maps depicting the shifting tides of battle between the Blacks and the Greens. Figures representing the forces of each faction were arranged strategically across the maps, their positions and movements subject to intense scrutiny and debate.

Around the table, half a dozen men of varying ranks and stations gathered, their faces etched with determination and resolve. Some were adorned in the regal garb befitting their noble status, while others wore the practical attire of seasoned warriors, their armor bearing the insignias of their respective Houses. Among them were representatives from influential families such as Peake, Vance, Butterwell, and Tarbeck, each bringing their own perspectives and strategies to the discussion.

As the murmurs of conversation filled the room, the councilors delved deep into the intricacies of military tactics and diplomatic maneuvers, their voices rising and falling in heated debates and calculated deliberations. All sound stopped when Maera entered the room, the men rising from their seats, heads bowed as a sign of respect of her station as Princess.

Her graceful stride carried her confidently into the chamber, her gaze fixed upon the figure standing at the head of the table—her husband. Even Maera, with her resolve and determination, couldn't help but feel a stirring of excitement at the sight of Aemond commanding the room with his authoritative presence. His tall, imposing figure exuded an aura of power and strength that demanded attention and respect from all those in his midst.

Turning her attention to Aemond’s left, Maera’s eyes alighted upon Alys, standing by his side with a finger tracing a path on the map spread out before them. A fleeting pang of resentment flickered within Maera as she beheld the woman who had inserted herself into their lives, her features composed but her presence a constant reminder of the complexities of their situation.

Undeterred, Maera continued her movements across the room. Her attire, a masterful blend of regal elegance and practicality, featured layers of supple leather adorned with intricate golden dragon motifs. The loose black cotton skirts accommodated her growing belly with grace, cinched at the waist by a gleaming golden belt that accentuated her noble bearing. Compared to Alys’s simple attire, Maera’s ensemble exuded an undeniable majesty, a visual embodiment of her status as a princess of House Targaryen.

With a forced smile, Maera addressed the room, her tone polite but tinged with an underlying edge. "I was not aware there was a meeting scheduled for this morning," she remarked, her eyes meeting Aemond's briefly before turning to address the others.

Aemond replied smoothly, his expression betraying nothing of the tension between them from the day before. "I did not wish to disturb your rest," he said, his tone casual.

As Maera reached Aemond’s side, she maintained her regal composure, the graceful tilt of her head belying the underlying assertion of her presence. The other counsellors may have interpreted her interactions as nothing more than the love a wife held for her husband, yet that was far from the truth. It was a silent challenge, a reminder of their discord from the previous night. “Always so considerate of my well-being, husband,” she chirped, a gentle smile on his face.

With practiced poise, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek, a seemingly tender gesture that carried a subtle undertone of ownership, a silent reminder of her place by his side. "But alas," she continued, "the war does not sleep when I do." Her comment elicited chuckles from the other lords as they took their seats around the table. Maera's gaze flickered past Aemond to Alys, who stood beside him.

The witch shifted uncomfortably, her hand instinctively moving to cradle her swollen belly, a protective gesture that seemed almost instinctual. After a moment of reluctance, Alys curtsied to Maera, a gesture that did little to mask the tension between them.

“I am sure your counsel has been valuable thus far, Alys,” Maera remarked with a forced politeness. “But if you could take a seat beside one of the other attendees, we can commence the discussion.”

Alys’s face contorted into a fleeting scowl before quickly smoothing into a mask of forced civility as she gently protested, “I was just in the midst of exploring army movements in the Westerlands, Princess.” There was a subtle defiance in her gaze as she faced Maera head on, causing Aemond to clear his throat against the backdrop of awkward silence.

Though her outward demeanor remained composed, there was a steely determination in Maera’s eyes, a silent promise of the consequences that would befall any who dared to challenge her authority. Beneath the surface calm, a simmering resolve burned, fueling her determination to assert her dominance and put Alys firmly in her place. "I am eager to hear of these developments as well," she replied evenly, "but I'm sure you can do so from the other end of the table.” Alys held Maera’s gaze for a moment and did not move, but the princess didn’t waver. Maera asserted herself once more, “It seems more fitting that the Princess should be situated beside the Prince, as opposed to a… seer.”

A tense silence hung in the air as Alys held Maera's gaze for a moment before relenting with a respectful nod. She made her way to the other end of the table and took her seat, her expression unreadable. Maera settled herself on the right side of her husband, her presence a silent declaration of her authority and position. “Now then, could someone explain to me what has been discussed so far?”

Ser Adrian rose respectfully, nodding at Maera before addressing her. “Princess, the Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, or Targaryen as he is now styling himself, has returned to Dragonstone after securing an alliance with the North.” He gestured to a black dragon figure now situated on the island on the map. Maera acknowledged his report with a nod, prompting him to continue. “The North has contributed eighteen thousand men to support Rhaenyra’s cause, along with an additional two thousand known as the Winter Wolves.”

Another Lord, bearing the sigil of House Peake, spoke up. “This indicates an imminent invasion of King’s Landing from the North. Something that can be prevented so long as we hold Harrenhall.” Maera nodded in agreement, offering the lord a small smile in appreciation for his contribution. Despite feeling her husband's intense gaze on her, she remained focused on the discussion.

Ser Adrian moved across the table, positioning himself between two other lords as he shifted a Hightower beacon figure across the map. “Lord Ormund Hightower commands an army of nine thousand strong, preventing any invasion from the Black allies of the Reach,” he explained. As Maera scanned the map, Ser Adrian continued speaking. “However, even with our supporters in the Crownlands, Reach, and Stormlands, in terms of preventing an invasion…”

“It won’t be enough,” Maera interjected, finishing his sentence with a grim determination.

Ser Adrian gestured towards the Westerlands. “Before you entered, the Lady Alys suggested—oh no, wait, forgive me, not Lady. I—uhm,” he stumbled over his words, causing Maera to sigh with a small smile, the subtle twitch at the corner of her lips betraying her amusement.

However, as she pondered the implications of Alys being referred to as “Lady,” a deeper thought crossed her mind, prompting a fleeting furrow of her brow. The realization that Alys wielded significant influence in Harrenhall and held sway over Aemond, coupled with her pregnancy, suggested that perhaps she was indeed regarded as a Lady by some members of the council. Despite this realization, Maera masked her contemplation with a chuckle, and a raise her hand as a signal for the knight to stop.

“No offense caused, good brother. Given everything that has occurred, I can understand how these things can get confusing,” Maera laughed, offering a reassuring nod to Ser Adrian. She glanced briefly at her husband, noting the tension in his jaw at Maera’s jibe directed at him, before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. “I’m sure Alys is honored to be mistaken for a Lady. Now, Alys, what were you saying before I entered the room?”

Alys’s reaction to Maera’s laughter was swift, a fleeting tense of her features before she composed herself. Without missing a beat, she rose from her seat and approached the map, pointing to the Westerlands.

“As a good number of the King’s Army is currently indisposed through executing the traitors of the Crownlands, we need greater support from the West,” Alys began, her voice carrying a hint of urgency, her hand lingering on her swollen belly in a gesture that seemed almost pointed, as if to emphasize her status and authority. She picked up a green figure shaped like a lion and placed it in the Riverlands on the map. “The Lannister army can support us here at Harrenhall and defend King’s Landing from an attack from the Northerners.”

Maera studied the map with a furrowed brow, her gaze tracing the movements of the figurines representing the Blacks and Greens across the Riverlands. The disparity in numbers, with Harrenhall seemingly surrounded by enemies, did not escape her notice, prompting a deepening of the crease between her brows as she pondered their strategy. “We have more enemies than allies in the Riverlands. And those closest to the Westerlands in the Reach are Blacks. Are we so sure these armies will not be ambushed?”

“That is what I said, Princess!” exclaimed the Peake Lord from earlier, echoing Maera’s concerns. With his support, Maera’s expression softened slightly with a glimmer of hope. She recognized the significance of finding support in the midst of adversity, and the possibility of forging alliances provided a ray of optimism amidst the gloom of her precarious situation.

Alys interjected confidently, “There will be no attack from the Rivermen or traitors in the Reach. I have seen the lion swim through the river and make it onto dry land unharmed.”

Maera huffed in frustration at Alys’s supposed prophecy, her annoyance evident in the way she rubbed her temples and sighed heavily. Despite the logic behind their strategic analysis, Alys’s insistence on invoking prophecy introduced an element of uncertainty and doubt, complicating their plans and undermining Maera’s efforts to navigate the complexities of their situation with pragmatism and reason.

“What are your thoughts, my Prince?” inquired a knight with the sigil of House Butterwell adorned on his chest plate, addressing Aemond.

The Prince’s one-eyed gaze swept across the room, absorbing the opinions of the council with a thoughtful expression. With a quiet hum, he rose from his seat and strode purposefully across the room, his movements deliberate and confident. His tall and lean form exuded an aura of authority, clad in black leather garments that accentuated his imposing presence.

As Aemond stood before the map, his eye lingered intently on the marked regions, his mind calculating the strategic implications of their next move. With decisive gestures, he shifted a black dragon figure from Harrenhall to the border of the Riverlands and the North, signaling a shift in their tactical positioning. “If I patrol here daily, where an attack is most likely, we will be able to identify it sooner,” he concluded, his voice firm and decisive, earning nods of agreement from the attending lords.

Maera's eyes followed her husband's movements, her expression thoughtful as she studied the map. Despite the complexities of their situation, she couldn't help but admire Aemond's adeptness at command and his astute grasp of battle tactics. Rising from her seat, she stepped beside him, her form brushing against his as she pointed toward the Westerlands, offering her own insights and suggestions in unity with her husband's strategic vision.

“Half the Rivermen are sworn to Rhaenyra. What is stopping them from invading Harrenhall or preventing the Westerlands forces from reaching us?”As Maera spoke, Aemond’s gaze drifted down to her, a twinkle of admiration shimmering in his violet eye, his stare carrying a depth that momentarily left her breathless. A subtle blush tinted her cheeks, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips, buoyed by the pride of earning her husband’s respect.

Their shared moment was abruptly interrupted by the grating voice of Alys, clearly disgruntled. “That will not happen, as I have already said.”

Maera chose to ignore the interruption and with deliberate movements, she maneuvered black figurines across the map, mapping out their strategic maneuvers. She then fixed her gaze back to her husband, her tone firm. “You patrol the North. Daeron patrols the South, stopping traitors in the Reach from invading Kings Landing. Yet here,” she gestured to the West, “we are vulnerable.”

Aemond nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing in contemplation, echoed by murmurs of agreement from the other lords. Before he could respond, Alys interjected again, confidently, “I have seen that the Westerlands are safe from attack.”

“And I have seen with my two eyes that I command a dragon almost as large as Vhagar. It would be foolish not to use him,” Maera retorted, her voice laced with disdain as she turned her attention back to her husband. “I suggest I patrol this border, as a cautionary measure.”

Aemond met her gaze, his expression thoughtful as he considered her proposal. “Are you sure?” Aemond asked Maera, concern evident in his tone as he glanced at his wife. Maera replied with a determined nod, her eyes reflecting her resolve, before Aemond turned his attention to the room. “Are we all in agreement?” With nods and murmurs filling the room, indicating their consensus, the decision was made.

A rush of validation surged through her, her insights held weight in his decision-making process. In that moment, she felt empowered and respected, her contributions valued by the one person whose opinion mattered most to her. It bolstered her confidence and reaffirmed her belief in their partnership, igniting a sense of purpose within her.

However, Alys who was clearly unhappy with this stood from her seat as if to protest, her defiance radiated from her posture. Her cat-like green eyes bore into Maera, filled with resentment and challenge, while strands of her dark brown hair fell forward as she stood.

Maera, taken aback by Alys’s insolence, quickly intervened with words that appeared polite on the surface but carried an undercurrent of authority and command. “You look tired, Alys. Perhaps you should rest,” Maera said with a sly grin. “I have spoken with Maester Cain; he is awaiting you in his chambers for an examination.”

Alys clenched her jaw, her gaze briefly shifting to Aemond, hoping for support. However, Aemond’s reaction was not what she had hoped for. Instead of backing her up, he responded with a distasteful expression, merely raising an eyebrow in a reproachful manner, signaling his disapproval of her outburst to his wife. The witch huffed in frustration, her agitation palpable in the air, she reluctantly offered a small curtsy to the Prince and Princess, her movements stiff with indignation. The swish of her simple green dress as she turned to storm out of the room echoed her inner turmoil.

Maera's reaction was one of restrained triumph, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her features as she watched Alys depart. She knew that while this victory may have tilted the scales in her favor for the moment, the conflict between them was far from resolved.

“Have we received an update from Cole?” The Prince addressed the room once more as he returned to his seat at the opposite end of the table, his long, straight silver hair cascaded down his back, framing his sharp features. His posture exuded confidence and authority as he resumed his position, his violet eye scanning the room with a keen gaze.

Maera followed him, her eyes briefly capturing the elegance of his movements as he pulled out the chair for her. She couldn’t help but appreciate his gesture of care, a small warmth blossoming within her. As she sat down, Aemond pushed in her chair before taking his own seat, his presence beside her reassuring in the midst of the council’s deliberations.

“Yes, Prince Aemond,” an elderly Lord from House Vance began, unfurling a scroll for reference. “The Lord Commander has executed Lord Darklyn. Unfortunately, there has been quite an uproar in Duskendale.”

Maera furrowed her brow before strange sensation fluttered in her lower stomach, like a gentle fluttering of wings. Instinctively, she placed her hand over her abdomen, attributing the sensation to nerves regarding the topic of discussion. She listened intently as the Lord continued. “His guards and the common folk have protested, causing our forces to attempt to restore order.”

“Why do they not simply leave?” Maera inquired, her voice tinged with curiosity and concern. She did not want to appear ignorant, but surely if the execution was done then the host of soldiers could return to the task at hand? Thankfully, Maera’s brother-in-law was able to explain the reasoning behind it.

“It is a port, Princess,” Ser Adrian replied, offering clarification. “It may affect trade if balance is not restored.”

The Peake Lord elaborated, “And given the state of the Gullet at present, we need every port we can get to maintain trade.”

Of course, Maera thought. It was still difficult to get food, livestock, and weapons into the Crownlands due to the Velaryon fleet blocking access. Maera’s inherited fleet from Morne was providing security for trade ships but the loss in products meant the arrangement could not last forever. By turning Duskendale green, it would allow trade to arrive easily into Kings Landing.

“Has any headway been made with Essos? Perhaps they could assist with moving the Velaryon naval forces?” inquired the Butterwell knight.

“No, the Essossi are even more stubborn than the Dornish. They only protect their own, and since we have no relationships with the magisters, the chances are slim,” replied the old Lord Vance.

Essos had previously ignored pleas for aid made by the previous Hand of the King, Lord Otto, citing they did not wish to involve themselves in a war that did not concern them. However with the East trading so much with the West, the events that of the Dance of the Dragons was bound to affect them sooner or later.

A thought occurred in the Princess’s mind; she received updates every few months from a link who had travelled across the continent of Essos, one who had said they would offer support however they could, if she asked for it.

Maera interjected swiftly, “My brother Dermot is currently staying with a magister in Myr.” Her words commanded the room's attention, including that of her husband. “I could ask my brother to implore the magister on behalf of our cause.”

Ser Adrian was the first to respond, “That just might work, Princess.” The other Lords nodded in agreement, including Aemond, who displayed a faint smile.

A few hours had passed with the discussion of battle strategies within the council, yet even though Maera attempted to immerse herself, she found herself in awe of her husband’s ability to command the room. Her irritation from the night before seemed distant, and she couldn't help but be impressed. He listened to his advisors but was also able to assert himself using logic and the unique knowledge of riding on dragonback whilst jotting down notes of points that had been mentioned.

Aemond wanted to win this war, that was plain to see. She was unsure of his reasons, but supposed they could be many; an attempt to prove himself to his family as the more adept Prince, through duty of upholding is brother’s rightful claim to the throne, or to make the world a safer place for his House and its descendants. The Prince also divulged plans to the Lords for the royal children to be sent to ward in distant lands. One of the Lords even disclosed that Rhaenyra had similar intentions for her youngest children.

The old Lord Vance rolled his eyes. “I do not see why we don’t just kill her little bastards already. We should not risk bastard blood on the Iron Throne.” Maera's reaction was unexpected as she slammed her fists onto the table and rose from her seat in anger, surprising both herself and the other attendees, her green eyes flashing with intensity. As she stood, she felt that odd sensation in her lower stomach once more.

Closing her eyes briefly, Maera couldn't shake the haunting image of young Jaehaerys's blood staining the stone floor, his headless body cradled in Helaena's arms. A tear welled in her eye, a silent testament to the grief and horror that still gripped her heart.

Suddenly, Maera's eyes snapped open, her senses sharpening as she realized where she was. She couldn't afford to show emotion, especially not to these Lords who viewed such displays as weakness. Her actions needed to be driven by logic and principle, not by the haunting memories of a lost child or the fear for her own unborn child's safety. “The Blacks murdered the King's first-born son. If we do the same, how does that make us any better? What would the Realm think?”

Maera felt a reassuring hand on her lower back, a gentle pressure that grounded her as tension radiated through the room. Glancing up, she met her husband’s concerned gaze, finding solace in the silent understanding that passed between them. With a subtle nod, she relaxed her furrowed brow, silently acknowledging that her outburst was fueled by deep-seated emotions.

“Let us be done for today,” Aemond declared, swiftly ending the meeting. The other lords and knights rose from their seats and filed out of the room, leaving only the prince and princess in the heavy silence that followed. With a shared glance, Aemond and Maera wordlessly acknowledged the weight of the meeting and the unspoken understanding between them.

However, Maera was not quite ready to face her husband after the tumultuous events of the day before and the emotions it stirred within her. Without a word, she turned abruptly and made her way out of the chamber despite Aemond calling after her, retreating to the solitude of her chambers to gather her thoughts in private.

That evening in their shared chambers, the atmosphere was markedly different from their quarters in the Red Keep. The room was spacious but dimly lit, with heavy drapes covering the windows, casting long shadows across the wooden furnishings. The air held a chill, seeping in from the ancient stone walls of the fortress.

Upon the table between them lay a modest spread of food, far less extravagant than what they were accustomed to in King's Landing. There were simple dishes of roasted meats, bread, and vegetables, accompanied by a jug of wine and a few goblets. The fare lacked the refinement of royal feasts, reflecting the more austere conditions of their current surroundings.

As Maera and Aemond sat opposite each other, the atmosphere was palpably tense. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, casting a heavy weight over the room. Despite the flickering candlelight and the warmth of the hearth, an undeniable chill lingered in the air, a reflection of the strained relationship between husband and wife.

Throughout the day, Aemond and Maera had been occupied with their respective duties and interests, scarcely crossing paths since the morning council meeting. Aemond had attended to his princely responsibilities, while Maera had wandered the grounds of Harrenhall before immersing herself in the depths of the castle's library.

As they finally reunited at the dinner table, the couple sat in a subdued silence, each absorbed in their own activities. Their plates were filled with food, though neither seemed particularly focused on eating. Aemond diligently worked on his ledger, his attention devoted to the meticulous task at hand. Meanwhile, Maera delved into the pages of a book chronicling the history of Aegon's Conquest, the familiar tale offering her a convenient refuge from conversation with her husband.

Engrossed in her reading, Maera was startled when she heard the distinct sound of Aemond setting down his fork. Raising her gaze from the pages, she found herself meeting the Prince's eye, a subtle tension lingering between them as unspoken thoughts hung heavy in the air.

“I must commend you, wife,” he began, his voice carefully measured. “Your contributions to the council meeting were impressive.”

Maera scoffed softly, her gaze never leaving the pages of her book as she turned them with deliberate precision. “At least my ideas are grounded in logic, unlike some who prefer to chase after fantastical prophecies,” she retorted, her tone laced with subtle disdain.

Aemond paused, his jaw tightening imperceptibly as he tore his gaze away, a fleeting shadow crossing his features at the mention of Alys. After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “I will speak with her regarding her conduct,” he stated, his eye meeting Maera’s briefly before darting away.

Maera absorbed his words in silence, a myriad of emotions swirling within her despite the veneer of composure she maintained. Despite the betrayal that still lingered between them, she couldn’t deny a glimmer of gratitude towards Aemond for attempting to mend the rift, as well as his support for her ideas in the meeting. With a nod of acknowledgment, she murmured a quiet "Thank you," before returning her focus to her book, her appetite waning as she picked at her food.

An odd sensation stirred in Maera's lower stomach once more, drawing a frown to her features as she contemplated its source. A memory from her childhood flashed before her eyes, her mother's gentle voice and the sensation of laying her head on her stomach. Suddenly, the pieces fell into place, and Maera placed a hand on her abdomen, feeling the subtle movements beneath her skin.

Aemond's brows furrowed in concern as he noticed Maera's expression, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "Is everything alright?" he inquired, his voice tinged with worry.

Maera's lips curved into a faint smile as she glanced up at him, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. "The baby's kicking," she replied softly, a mixture of awe and wonder dancing in her eyes.

Aemond rose from his seat with a sense of urgency, his ledger forgotten as he closed the distance between himself and Maera. His steps were swift yet deliberate, each movement betraying his eagerness to be by her side. "When did it start?" he asked, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and excitement as he approached her.

Maera's laughter bubbled forth like a melody as she glanced up at him, her eyes alight with mirth. "Just this morning," she replied, her tone filled with amusement. "It's not quite what I expected it to feel like."

Kneeling beside her, Aemond's gaze drifted down to her delicate bump, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air before pulling back, unsure if Maera would welcome his touch. A soft sigh escaped Maera's lips, her resolve softening despite the lingering anger between them. She reached out, gently guiding his hand to her lower stomach, her own hand covering his as she pressed it against the curve of her bump.

In that moment, as the tiny babe stirred beneath her touch, Aemond’s breath caught in his throat as he marveled at the movement. "How big is the babe now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eye never leaving the swell of Maera's abdomen.

"About the size of a potato, if I recall correctly," Maera replied, her voice soft and tender as she met Aemond's gaze with a fond smile.

Aemond’s brows furrowed slightly as he contemplated her words, his gaze lingering on her with a mix of concern and curiosity. “Does it hurt?” he asked tentatively, his voice laced with genuine concern.

Maera’s laughter echoed softly in the intimate space between them as she shook her head, her hand tightening gently around his. “No, it’s actually quite nice,” she admitted, a hint of fondness coloring her tone. “Knowing that our little one is here.”

As the silence enveloped them like a warm embrace, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows across the room, Aemond's gaze lifted to meet Maera's, his hand still resting against her stomach. "Do you think all will be well? In our marriage?" he asked, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

Maera's expression softened as she considered his question, her gaze searching his for a moment before she replied, her tone gentle yet uncertain. "Time will tell," she said softly, her fingers intertwining with his as they shared a fleeting moment of connection amidst the uncertainty of their future.

Notes: Bitchy plus fluffy equals this chapter 🤣 also next chapter I’m thinking of posting an Aemond POV just to break it up. I’ve got about 6 so far and I just know these are going to increase. So imma just litter them about and stick them in another section on the contents page

Tags: @0eessirk8 @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @manipulatixe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

#maera wylde #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #chapters #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #house targaryen #house wylde #hotd helaena

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